


Focus

by Yobotica



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Artist Desmond, Fluffy, History Major Shaun, M/M, Pining, Valentine's Day Fic y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 18:55:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17792867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yobotica/pseuds/Yobotica
Summary: Blending of two prompts I found on Tumblr for Valentine's Day fics, but I'm so sorry, I didn't record where I found them. ;;Desmond tries to woo Shaun through art~





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta provided by the wonderful [Caisar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caisar), who is, as far as I'm concerned, basically a miracle worker. Any remaining mistakes are my own, and probably because I did edits after the help, because I can't not, apparently.

"Stop doodling on my notes, Desmond," Shaun grumbled from the kitchen, and Desmond grinned at him, even though Shaun hadn't even bothered to look up from his laptop to send a glare his way.

"My bad," he called. Shaun smirked, a there-and-gone-again expression Desmond might have missed if he hadn't been watching for it.

He was watching a lot, these days.

This was their second year as roommates, and this was the year, he swore, that he'd actually _do_ something about his crush on Shaun. Everyone else seemed to know how he felt, and even Rebecca was starting to get less subtle in her attempts to goad him into action.

It's just... It was _Shaun._ He'd never had trouble telling others he was interested in them before, but this was different in a way he couldn't quite put in to words. Shaun would probably be able to, though, and he'd gladly spend twenty minutes telling you why.

Desmond smiled down at his notepad. He'd heard it all before, and would probably hear it again. He didn't mind.

The truth was, he knew he could probably find the words if he tried. But the thought of Shaun not being interested in return, that terrified him. Or worse, if he made Shaun uncomfortable!

But his friends were right. He couldn't go on like this for another year. But, if he could just find the _right_ words, then maybe he could still preserve their friendship, even if Shaun didn't feel the same way.

_The right words..._

He glanced up to watch Shaun again, half-heartedly doodling spirals on the page in front of him when he saw Shaun smile again, and realized it was because his eyes had caught Desmond's stupid doodle of a dog he'd seen in the library a few days ago.

The idea hit him suddenly, and he dragged his eyes down to his notepad, afraid Shaun might glance up and somehow see his heart racing.

He didn't need words! He wasn't a writer, he was an artist! He could just _show_ Shaun how he felt!

Desmond smiled again, plan slowly forming as he started sketching out ideas instead. It might take a little while, but surely, by Christmas, he could get his message across.

========

Desmond started out simple, really; with fewer variables, there was less to go wrong. Shaun had to look at his notes when he transcribed them, so Desmond spent more time _making_ time to doodle on them. The plan doesn’t call for whatever comes to mind when the paper's in front of him, though.

He was trying to send a message, after all. The next time Shaun left his notes on the dining room table, Desmond sat down and glanced at the topic. Some in-depth piece about politics in Italy, during the Renaissance, it looked like. He grinned to himself, and after a quick Google search, set to work.

Half an hour later, he had a pretty decent sketch of Michelangelo's David. Not too bad, he thought, and while he didn't get to see Shaun's reaction to that one, he did get a text the next day while he was in the studio.

_Not bad. Not the century I was writing about, but still. Not bad._

Desmond grinned and set back to work, already plotting his next move.

========

The plan went more slowly than Desmond had expected, but he wasn't sure if that was because if he was succeeding or not. Shaun was a notoriously private person, and he hadn't dated anyone for as long as Desmond had known him, though he's heard of exes before they met.

But Shaun was, well, warmer to him lately. Not that he hadn't been warm already - well, for _Shaun,_ but it felt like he paid Desmond more attention, engaged him a little bit more. He definitely got more texts now, but mostly because he'd recently stopped doodling on Shaun's notes and instead just slipped his sketches on loose paper into Shaun's notes for him to discover later.

That particular trend caught on because he'd actually _seen_ Shaun tuck the sketch into his folder before resuming work, and... Well, that meant he was going to keep it, right?

But there were no other signs that Shaun understood what Desmond was trying to say. He'd drawn maybe twenty or so of these pictures by Christmas, and Shaun seemed no closer to understanding the message behind them.

He'd drawn pictures of scenes from Shaun's favorite movies, from the library they studied at sometimes, a sketch copying Shaun's favorite poster - once, he'd even drawn a caricature of Vidic, the terrible professor for the American History course Shaun had taken that semester. That one had been a big hit, actually, even if it had been done on Shaun's notes.

He'd even once brought Shaun coffee at the library, along with a ballpoint drawing of the shop's storefront. Shaun had appreciated the picture, and it, too, had been tucked into the folder, and the coffee drunk.

He still brought Shaun coffee, but sometimes Shaun brought snacks, so maybe the right message hadn't gotten across there.

They were coming up on Christmas break, and Shaun would actually be heading home for the holidays, returning just after New Year’s.

_Time to bring out the big guns, then._

Their last night in the library before the break, he spent observing Shaun as discreetly as he could, sketching him with as much detail as he possibly could with the time he had.

As a rule, he generally never drew people he knew. He _could_ draw them, of course, but no art was a perfect replication - no person ever saw another as that person saw themselves, after all, and Desmond himself had written papers on portraits, on what areas had the most detail and what that possibly said about the artist themselves rather than the subject.

He knew how _he_ saw Shaun, he just wondered what Shaun would see when he looked at himself as seen through Desmond's eyes. It was no true portrait, but it was the closest he could get with the time he had.

He managed to sneak that one in Shaun's textbook before they left for break, and spent the next month holding his breath.


	2. Chapter 2

Shaun was an over-achiever, a perfectionist. Everyone knew this, because he made it a point to over-achieve and was naturally perfect.

Which was great in terms of his classes and his part-time job, but terrible in terms of his relationships. You can't _win_ at people, after all, and he should know. He'd certainly tried.

He'd have to have been an idiot to miss that something had changed between him and Desmond, though, and Shaun was _not_ an idiot. Mostly.

The folder he keeps Desmond's drawings in had gotten noticeably fuller recently - _and_ Desmond had even stopped drawing on his notes and had taken to drawing on loose pages and slipping them in his notepads, his books, his laptop. Once, he'd even directly given Shaun a sketch of the coffee shop near campus they frequented often - along with coffee.

Then he just, kept bringing coffee. It was appreciated, of course it was, but it was baffling, so Shaun started bringing snacks. Their study sessions in the library _had_ improved, though, so maybe that was the point?

Desmond's room was covered in sketches, and he'd always doodled on Shaun's notes for as long as he's known the man, but he'd also drawn on _everyone’s_ when he gets the chance. Did they get drawings too? He didn’t know how to ask, and he wasn’t really sure what it all meant. Most importantly, he was desperate not to read too much into it.

Desmond was too important to lose, even if it meant Shaun may never actually tell him how he felt. So he saved every drawing he got, made sure to keep them in their folder, and hoped he never had to stop looking forward to the next one.

========

In January, a week after returning from his holiday back home, Shaun pulled out his textbooks again for a revision to the paper he'd been working on before Christmas. He hadn't had to get started that early, but he'd had some ideas, so why not get a head start on putting them down?

He'd barely gotten started when he realised there was something actually tucked inside the pages where he'd been studying previously, and he'd already started to smile the instant he suspected Desmond had snuck in another drawing - it had to have been in the library before Christmas, surely!

But the smile dropped from his face when he saw that he wasn't looking at some storefront, or some movie scene, but himself, bent over the laptop and scowling a little. The drawing was in pencil, and much more detailed than most of the ones Desmond had given him so far.

His laptop was a dark, blocky scribble and the keys were more of an impression than a detail, but the hands resting on it were sharply defined and carefully shaded. His clothes were loosely outlined and the shading was mostly made up of smudges with more defined edges, but his hair and glasses had more detail than his entire torso did. His face was, well, it looked like his face, and it wore an expression he knew his face wore often, but it was both hard for him to look directly at it, and hard to look away.

His heart was racing, he realised, and he set the drawing down carefully. He couldn't even define how he felt, much less what exactly was making him feel this way - other than that _Desmond_ had done this, had drawn _him_. Desmond almost never drew anyone he knew, hadn't ever painted one of his friends, as far as Shaun was aware. He wasn't certain why, but Shaun knew that this was, it was special.

He didn't put that one in the folder. That one was tucked into the first pages of his notebook, the one he kept with him in his bag. If he looked at it more often than any of the others, well, it was no one's business but his own.

========

Shaun, somehow, completely forgot to tell Desmond he'd found the portrait - or what he'd thought of it. He'd been so shaken that by the time it occurred to him, well, it had seemed to be too awkward to bring up.

That, and he still wasn't sure what he would even say. He was flattered, and amazed, and his heart still picked up whenever he looked at it for reasons he wasn't sure he could bring himself to examine closely.

Desmond hadn't said anything, either, though, and Shaun wasn't sure what _that_ meant, either.

Near the end of January, Desmond finally brought it up; nudged him after dinner one evening.

"Hey, I've got a favour to ask," he said, and Shaun motioned for him to go on, only half-listening. He was neck-deep in work at the moment, and would probably say yes to whatever it was anyway.

"There's a project coming up, an exhibition. I've got to paint something for a theme, and I was wondering if I could paint you for it?" Desmond sounded a little nervous, and Shaun stopped typing to look at him.

The sketch made sense now - it was probably practice for the painting, then. Maybe he'd even sketched others, to figure out what would work best. The thought made him grimace, and Desmond looked away with a sigh.

"No, sorry!" Shaun said in a rush, "I was, I was thinking of something else. You want to paint me for a project? Would I need to pose or anything?"

Desmond grinned at him instead, and shook his head. "Nope. The painting will be displayed in an exhibition, though, so I wanted to check before I got started."

Shaun nodded. "Is this... Related to the drawing I found in my book?" he managed, and hoped he didn't sound as awkward and unsure as he felt.

Desmond's eyebrows shot up, and he nodded with a wry smile. "Yeah, actually," he said. "I wasn't sure if you'd found it yet. Is that okay?"

"Of course! It was... It was amazing, Desmond. Are you sure you want to paint me, though?"

Desmond's smile grew, but there was something a little off about it, like a joke that was private to Desmond himself. "Yeah, I really am," he said, and the conviction in his voice meant Shaun couldn't bring himself to say no. But, if just a drawing affected him like it had, what on earth would a painting do? "Are you sure you don't need me to sit for it or anything?"

Desmond laughed, and whatever tension he was carrying fell away. "I'm sure," he said. "Besides, all you do is sit around, I've got plenty of material."

Shaun huffed at him, then shrugged as casually as he could. “By all means, paint away.”

He knew Desmond painted, but he didn't paint in their apartment, so Shaun hadn't actually seen very much of his work. He couldn't imagine Desmond wasn't skilled at that as well, though.

He'd get to see it before the exhibition, though, surely, and judge for himself.

_========_

Shaun did not get to see the painting before the exhibition.

Desmond was apologetic about it, but he'd invited Shaun to the exhibition - which was on Valentine’s Day, of all things.

It wasn't like Shaun had other plans - which Desmond _knew_ \- but still.

Desmond had told him to dress nice, which was ridiculous since Shaun was always dressed nicer than Desmond anyway. Of course, this only meant that when Shaun actually saw Desmond in a suit, he promptly choked on absolutely nothing and made a damn fool of himself.

He wasn't even wearing a _tie_ , for Christ's sake, but while Shaun had been aware of his attraction to Desmond for a while now, there was nothing like a new wrapping for the universe to make sure he was paying attention.

_He was._

His own suit wasn't bad, but he didn't wear it like Desmond did, like it was a favour to everyone else (and holy God, it really was).

The trip over to the exhibition was quiet. Nervousness on Desmond's part, Shaun knew, and a desperate desire not to out himself on his own.

This had been such a terrible idea.

Once the Uber dropped them off, though, there was a lot of meeting people and congratulations and other tedious stuff to get through. While all of these things in general were his least favorite part of, well, people and gatherings, he was thankful for the distraction today, even if he was so keyed up he couldn't remember a single name he learned.

Desmond never left his side, at least, and once all the conversations were over, he let Shaun lead them around the gallery and they even talked over a few pieces painted by Desmond's classmates. Shaun hadn’t even paid attention to the theme, but the pieces were so varied he wasn’t certain he could name it. Desmond seemed amused by this, and he outright laughed at Shaun’s confusion over one of the more abstract ones that reminded him of dissected chocolates.

When he caught his own face out of the corner of his eye, though, he mentioned to Desmond that he saw it, and marched in that direction without even glancing back to see if Desmond was following.

He couldn't have, even if he'd wanted to - he couldn't take his eyes off the painting.

It took him a moment to realise that there actually were similarities to the drawing Desmond had shown him, because aside from both being portraits of Shaun, and being set in the library, they were very, very different.

The most drastic change was that in the drawing, Shaun had been scowling at his laptop. In the painting on the wall, his face was tilted down towards a book open on the table in front of him, but not tilted so much that he smile on his lips couldn't be seen.

There was something about the way Desmond had painted his mouth - _Desmond had painted his mouth!_ \- that made Shaun _feel_ things.

The shadows on his face were more defined than the sketch, the light overhead almost harsh like it never was in the library, yet somehow, the Shaun in the painting still seemed - soft.

One of his hands was almost caressing the page of the book on the table in front of him, and Shaun could tell that such careful attention had been paid there, as well. It wasn't a textbook, but an undefined tome - one that had a picture of Michelangelo David on it, even. His finger lay just over the statue’s hand, and the details he could see only made sense if Desmond spent a lot of time looking at his hands.

Shaun could hardly breathe, because Desmond had already drawn that for him. This wasn't just a painting of him in the library. It was, it was so much _more._

He felt his cheeks grow hot, but he couldn't face Desmond yet, so he just kept his eyes forward. The library behind the Shaun in the painting was muted, out of focus so much that he could identify it mostly on memory alone. That was their table, the pillar on his left was the pillar behind their regular table, but it was mostly an impression of the library, with Shaun himself the sole focus of the image.

His clothes, at least, were familiar, the heather grey vest and dress shirt underneath, with the sleeves haphazardly rolled up, and - his arms, his _hands..._

Shaun hadn't read too much into this at all - all the drawings, the coffee, Desmond’s almost shy smile when he invited him to the exhibition... This was a _date!_

Shaun was almost dizzy, and it took a few minutes before he could finally bring himself to turn and look at Desmond, only... Desmond wasn't there.

Desmond wasn't anywhere in sight, actually. Almost grateful for a reason to turn away from the painting, he moved back through the gallery until he spotted Desmond talking to someone he'd definitely introduced Shaun to - and Shaun had promptly forgotten.

Judging by their body language, and the man's age, it was probably someone from his art program, if not his professor.

Shaun waited for all of two seconds before marching up to the pair. "Pardon me," he said, and grabbed Desmond's arm and tugged.

He heard Desmond make some excuse, heard the man laugh, but he was focused on finding somewhere empty enough that they could talk without being interrupted and didn't bother paying attention to what was said. He settled on a corner far enough from any other paintings that they'd at least have the illusion of privacy.

"Desmond!" He hissed. "That is _not at all_ like the drawing!"

Desmond hadn't yet met his eyes, and had the grace to look sheepish, ducked his head down further. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but nothing came out.

“Desmond? Please, tell me what it means," he breathed, leaning closer. “Please. Look at me and tell me."

It took Desmond a moment, but he nodded and looked up, and Shaun saw exactly the same fear he'd been carrying for months, and he couldn't help the relieved smile that he felt stretch across his face.

Desmond's own smile appeared them, small and hopeful and only grew bigger the longer they stared, silent.

"Tell me," he murmured, “How long?” He saw Desmond resist the impulse to duck his head again.

"For almost as long as I've known you," he replied. "It... Everyone else knew, you know. I just... I couldn't do it again, I had to let you know somehow, so I figured, the best way was to show you."

"Christ, and I was afraid I was reading too much into things," Shaun admitted. "I'd hoped, but you never _said,_ and then... Then that picture, that _painting!_ Desmond, it's incredible!"

Desmond laughed softly. "It's for you," he said, "They were all for you, just you, you know that right?"

"I didn't. I didn't think I could ask."

Desmond laughed and leaned forward, like he couldn't stop himself if he'd even thought to, and Shaun didn't even try resisting either. His hands moved to Desmond's waist, and they both stopped just inches away from each other.

"Yeah?” Desmond asked, cocky grin stretched across his mouth.

Shaun was helpless against it. "Yeah," he murmured, leaning in to close the remaining distance, and finally, finally was able to do the very thing he'd dreamed about for so long.

Unfortunately, he sort of forgot about the exhibition, and, well, anything that wasn't Desmond's mouth, his tongue, his hands.

Desmond had apparently suffered the same problem, since neither of them managed to separate until they were asked to break it up or leave less than ten minutes later.

They left.


End file.
